《Dance into my heart》 Premise Watson broke his left shoulder, during a case where a spice storage was set on fire, which caused an explosion that threw Holmes and Watson against a wall, John sadly taking the worse hit. Being left handed, this cut deep into Dr. Watson''s routine, leaving him with such a sore right arm, that he could hardly move that one either. He was detained from work and issued a nurse, but Sherlock and her met heads on at the first occasion, not letting it end well. The result being, that now Sherlock would have to chip in for the missing nurse, until they could get a substitute. John went to bed angry that night, mustering the strength he could gather and getting undressed and to bed alone. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. ?? The next morning Watson is woken up by some drilling noises. He looks at the alarm clock and it''s only 7 AM. ''On a bloody Saturday!'', he thinks sleepy and annoyed. He tries to sit up hastily, but his sore shoulders and hurting arms keep him trapped in the sheets a bit longer. Once he manages to throw something over and walk downstairs, he comes by the bathroom, to find Sherlock working there with power tools. "What the hell are you doing?", he shouts, still quiet tired and moody. "Oh, hello John," Sherlock answers him cheerfully, "and good morning to you! What do you think of it?" "Of what?", John asks confused, but then he sees that Sherlock quasi remodeled the entire bathroom. Well, to a certain manageable degree. They now have two bathroom mirrors with outlets for electrical cords on either side, multiple shelves for storage of bits like razors or toothbrushes, towel holders on both sides too, plus extra hooks on the wall. But the most notable thing was, apart from the dust due to constructing, the bathroom was amazingly clean. John is taken aback by this and he respectively wonders: "Sherlock, did you do all this by yourself last night?" "Well, yes. You like it?", he asked curiously. "Yeah. Nice. Wow.", John is still bewildered. Then Sherlock steps out of the bath to usher him in and says: "Well, enjoy, I''ll make breakfast." And he closes the door. John is puzzled as to what made his friend do that, but then realizes he has to pee. And that it''s visible. Turning bright red he locks the door, just in case, to go about his business. ?? When John finishes, again straining the aching muscles, he exits to find Sherlock actually did make breakfast. "Okay, what the devil are you up to? First redecorating and now this? Which cup contains the poison?", he pries suspicious, once he sits down at the, again incredibly clean, kitchen table. "Oh, probably all, I threw out all the gush we had and made a stew from what was left. And since we were out of tea, I just stuffed some maple leaves in a tampon and let it sit in the kettle.", his friend replies with a sardonic grin. "Yuck Sherlock, that was gross even by your standards!", John laughs, as he almost swallows his perfectly brewed Earl Grey the wrong way. ''Sherlock even added the right amount of milk, how nice. Jup, something is definitely up!'', he tells himself. "Oh come on, why is that grosser than the head in the fridge or the eyes in the kettle, or the...", Sherlock lists, but John cuts him of: "I get it, Sherlock!" "I mean they are just as good as any other leaves!", his friend states. John looks at him with wide eyes. When he snaps out of it with a laugh, he says: "No you twit, it''s the tampon bit that''s gross." "Oh. Okay. Well it''s not like I would take used ones. That would be teatime for a vampire.", Sherlock muses. "Still icky.", John insists. "What''s icky about a new tampon? Aren''t they just sterilized cotton balls with a string on them?", Sherlock ponders confused. "Yeah but...well...well they...", John is suddenly dumbfounded. He decides to change the subject. "Okay, so what is really the deal? You aren''t usually the homely type, nor the nurturing kind, and certainly not the comedian, so what happened?", he demands. Sherlock seems lost in thought, but then answers: "Well I made life harder for you by driving your nurse away, I should make it easier again by helping you cope with your disability at home. So I''ve given you more options to place your belongings in the bathroom, since your favorite hand is disabled at the moment and you find it hard to keep up your normal routine." John considers this. The part of him being disabled, he didn''t like to hear. ''It''s not like I''m completely helpless. And yes, Sherlock''s driven nurse Sadie away. And a shame too, she was quiet a looker...'', he ponders, ''But would that really account for such a huge amount of work on his side? No. Couldn''t be that simple.'' "I get it now," John suddenly realizes, half proud and half angered, "this is gonna be one of your social experiments, isn''t it?" Sherlock looks at him with a mixture of sheepish excuses and deep hurt, explaining: "Well I hadn''t intended for it to be so, but since you need to be tidied up for that meeting you so eagerly want to attend..." A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. He leaves the sentence hanging. John at first doesn''t realize what he means. But then it dawns on him. "Oh no!", he says hasty, "I''m fine, I''ll wash and get dressed myself thank you, I am not gonna let you be my new nurse!" And with that he staggers to his room, trying to ignore that, despite Sherlock''s breakfast consisting mainly of things already cut down to size, repeatedly moving the fork to his mouth has worn him out a bit. He curses to himself: ''Damn painkillers don''t do jack for me, though I already hit the max. dosage.'' John gets his clothes ready and, keeping them tightly pinned under his right arm, makes for the stairs again. But he nearly falls the last two steps, waving the unbandaged arm, dropping his things, and falling straight into Sherlock''s arms. Who replaces him gently to the floor, only to pick up his clothes for him. Then he looks at him matter-of-fact and reminds him: "Look John, if you need help, there is no shame in asking!" "Says the man who will always barge into a situation alone, because he''s above it all!", John snaps back, embarrassed, and gets to the bathroom. ?? The extra hooks and shelves actually make it easier for him to place his clothes, but the fall really hurt, and it feels like he pulled something. Brushing his teeth with the electric toothbrush went okay, but already when he''s trying to take off his pj''s, he finds himself in trouble. The arms hurt so much, every move is a painful jerk into just one direction at once. And so it doesn''t take long until he stumbles, falling against the door, unable to catch himself. It made a loud bang, and while John is holding back tears and a scream from the pain, he hears Sherlock on the other side, calling: "John? John can you hear me?" He even sounds worried. As he''s still biting back the hurt, John''s unable to answer, and is shocked, when he hears Sherlock picking the lock to open the door. "What...the hell...Shsherlock!?", he curses, "I could be naked,... dammit!" But the detective just gives back: "You could be dead too! Or unconscious. Come, I''ll help you up." This calms the doctor down, though his pain is still imminent. Sherlock carefully sits him on the toilet lid, and starts to open his pajama shirt. "You know, if you slept naked, you would save yourself some trouble in the morning, getting out of this.", his friend calmly delivers. John looks at him with shock and answers: "Certainly not! I''m not gonna run around the apartment with no clothes on, like you! Noone needs to see that!" Just then, Sherlock is finished with his top and giving him a long look clarifies: "I''ll see you naked in a minute anyways. Your arms are still in no condition to do their work." John stares at him, and turning red stutters: "Whoa, no, no way Sherlock! I... I''m fine, I''ll get the rest myself." But the detective just crosses his arms and demands: "Prove it!" John raises an eyebrow, and Sherlock adds: "Take off your pants. If you can do that, I''ll leave." "Excuse me? What the... No way, I''m not stripping for you!", he shouts, panicked. "Come now, John, it should be easy enough, and if you manage that, I''ll leave you alone. But if you can''t do it, you''ll let me help you!¡±, the detective insists, "I''ll turn around if you need that, but I''m not going anywhere, before you show me that you can do it yourself." And to prove his point, he turns his back to him. John is dumbfounded, but then he gets up, angry, and tries to reach down... but the pain is too great, his arm can''t pull, it even hurts just closing his fist around the fabric. It also makes no difference whether he stands up, or sits down, moving just hurts. Then he gives it a last try, standing up and raising one leg, to use his foot, grabbing the pj''s leg with his toes, but he loses his balance and has to let himself fall back on the toilet. Frustrated, he gives up: "Alright, you win! Now help me, you... genius." So Sherlock does get to wash John. He thinks it is okay, but John blushes when his willy is cleaned. After he''s dressed, he''s quick to leave. ?? The evening John is out for the day, only to come home in a terrible rage. Nothing worked because of his arms and the pain, people kept bumping into him on the tube and at the university, where he had a meeting with another doctor, about a possible part time job. On top of that, there was never anyone present to help him open heavy doors, and he wasn''t able to hail a cab, forcing him to walk home, not wanting to get pushed around again. When he''s finally home, hungry and tired, Sherlock gets him to order pizza. It is delivered uncut, infuriating John further: "I told them to cut it, didn''t I? I made sure and repeated it twice, but they give us this! How am I supposed to eat?" Sherlock, getting up, retorts: "You repeated it three times. Maybe they were annoyed by it." "Yeah, well, they have no right...", John starts, as Sherlock returns to the table, carrying an Arabic sword, and cuts the pizza into tiny pieces with swift moves, shredding the carton in the process. John shouts "Are you mad?", but ends up laughing. And finally, cuz his arms still ache, even getting fed by Sherlock. Then his friend offers him some new tea to calm his nerves. John is suspicious at first, but gives in, saying: "What the heck, the day ain''t gettin any worse anyways, right?" ?? Some time after this, John feels happier, lighter, and is almost pain free. He suddenly wants to go dancing, and even asks the detective to come along, though he makes sure: "This is not a date, mind you!" Sherlock, usually not interested in this kind of activity, is happy to oblige, helping the doctor into a more comfortable outfit, calling a cab, paying the driver, and even chipping in for John to get them into the club. Once they enter the dimly lit room, a man runs into John''s bad shoulder and barks about it, but Sherlock just walks John away. When the man shouts "Faggot!" after them however, he doubles back, asking: ¡°Excuse me, were you referring to me?¡± The clearly drunk bloke answers: "Damn right, I did!", and is surprised when Sherlock replies by saying "Ah, then it''s fine, thank you.", confusing everyone. They order drinks, John flirts with a blond girl at the bar, while his friend just scans the crowd. The man comes back at them to cause trouble, so Sherlock asks him if he would like to take this outside, winding him up as they walk to the door. At the door, he lets him walk out first, and Sherlock just goes back to John. "Oldest trick in the book," he explains, "Now the bouncer wont let him come back in to bother us." The evening is light, John is happy, he orders a lot of rounds, and dances with every girl willing to: "take pity on the brave little soldier with his arm in a sling", as one brunette puts it. Some late time, the club is already getting empty, and somehow John finds himself dancing very close with Sherlock. He''s very happy and very drunk and so he starts to give his friend compliments: "You know, you have nice hair, like really cute curls." Sherlock returns: "Thank you John. And you have nice eyes. They have the interesting manner of sparkling even when there is little light present." Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! John, slightly giggling and swaying a bit, responds: "Wow Sherlock, you know how to talk to a lady. I mean, if I was a lady. Which I''m not. But that was still romantic. I mean, for you... You''re usually not so... good with words to be... good with people." Sherlock just shrugs and muses: "Might as well try some basic social skills on you, if you give me compliments." So John replies: "Well, you smell nice, too. I like your smell. It''s always like coming home for me." Sherlock actually blushes, and hiding a smile responds: "Hmm. And you, you''re a good dancer. Especially regarding, that you hardly use your arms. Have you ever considered to learn river dance?" John laughs. ?? They keep up the this game of compliments, even during the cab ride, when Sherlock decides to head home. Once they are standing on the stairs leading to 221B Bakerstreet, Sherlock, trying a joke, asks John to come up for a cup of tea. To which his friend gives back: "Yeah, alright. Though I''m usually not that kind of guy.", making Sherlock furrow his brow in confusion. Later, trying to mirror the joke, John asks: "Do you want to come up with me to my bedroom?" When the detective returns: "I''ve seen your room.", he replies: "But I''m not gonna show you the room." Sherlock doesn''t understand, but comes along, cuz he has to help him as his nurse anyways. Sitting on John''s bed, Sherlock unbuttons his shirt, when John continues the compliment game. "You have beautiful, luscious lips. And I would really like to kiss them. Really like to. And I''ve wanted to, since the day we met.", he purrs, swaying a little, admiring the gorgeous man''s pale lips. Sherlock is taken a bit aback by this. But he smiles and thanks him: "John, that''s very nice, but you''re very drunk, and I doubt you would say it otherwise.¡± This makes John think a little and he asks: "I''m drunk?" "Hmm", his friend hums. "And I''m drugged too?", the doctor adds. The detective confirms: "Hmm, a little. Some Polcitine, against your pain." John blinks: "Aha. So no Extacy?" "No. An anti-depressant that can cause lightheadedness and greatly reduces pain.¡±, Sherlock explains, "Gave you a small dose. Funny it''s holding up so long. Must be the booze." John still looks at Sherlock who''s now done opening the shirt. Swaying he purrs: "So, no excuse if I kiss you now?¡± "No.¡±, his flatmate simply states. John keeps pressing: "Would I remember?¡± Sherlock shrugs: "Probably not.¡± The army doctor tries looking him in the eyes, inquiring: "And you? You not drugged? Drunked?¡± The detective chuckles: "Been watching it, so I could watch out for you.¡± John gives it some thought: "So you will remember?¡± "I always do.¡±, his friend shoots back. "Will you tell me?, John demands, and Sherlock asks: "Bout what?¡± Doctor Watson straightens up. The younger Holmes takes off the shirt and briefly caresses his shrapnel scar with his fingertips. "Fascinating.¡±, he sighs. John longingly looks into his eyes, and with effort brings his good hand up to Sherlock''s shoulder. He moves his face closer, until their mouths are only a fingertip away from each other. "Will you tell me, how it was?¡±, he asks again, with vibrating desire in his voice. "How what was?¡±, Sherlock hushes confused, their foreheads and noses already meeting, open mouths almost shut by each other, as John sighs: "Me, making love to you!¡± ?? Speculations and accusations The next day, John wakes up a bit groggy, but not too beaten. Until he feels he is not alone in his bed. First he smiles to himself, wondering who he scored with, but when he realizes it''s Sherlock, he shrieks in panic: ¡°Holy fuck!¡± Sherlock, jumping up startled, doesn''t make things better by being nearly naked. "I know this looks bad, but I promise, we did nothing that you didn''t want!", he shouts. John screams even more: ¡°What the hell are you talking about? What happened?¡±, and starts to make wild speculations: ¡°Did you do this to me? Is this one of your experiments? Did you drug... wait... did you drug my tea?¡± His friend quickly confirms: ¡°Well, yes, I gave you some Polcitine...¡±, but can''t get around to the details, as John howls: ¡°You what???¡±, looking at him with a mixed expression of fear, disgust and anger: "How could you do this to me? I''m your best friend, and you give me...", his shoulder acts up at that moment, making his eyes watering. But suddenly his face hardens, as something dawns on him: "Oh I get it now!? Waited for me to be too helpless to defend myself, ey? Then just spike my tea, and Mr. Holmes can study the effects of a rape drug AND the event on his own private victim, is that it?" Sherlock pleads with tears in his eyes: "No, that''s not what happened. I just wanted to ease your pain and lighten your mood..." "OH, THANK YOU SO MUCH, FOR MAKING IT LOOK LIKE CONSENT TO EVERYONE BUT ME!!!", the doctor screams at the top of his lungs, his face all red. Then he grabs his alarm clock and hurls it at the detective, ripping the lamp from the nightstand to throw next and yelling: "Get out! Get away from me you monster! You disgusting maniac!" Sherlock doesn''t get hit, because John''s arm still hurts and has worse aim than the left, despite the young Holmes only slowly backing up to the door, silenced by his friends rage. When Watson is out of ammo, he collapses onto the bed, hugging his hurting shoulders tight. Sherlock makes one last attempt to explain himself: "That''s not what happened. I didn''t use you, John! You made love to ME, and it was the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me, because you''re my first, and you were gentle, and you said you loved me!" "Shut up you evil psycho pervert!", John yells, finally scaring his friend out of the room. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. ?? Once alone, the army vet quickly composes himself, forcing himself to get dressed to flee the house, scared and confused. He first hits up Molly Hooper, to ask her for help about finding a rape drug. "For a case?", she inquires curious, ¡°For Sherlock?¡± "No, for a case against Sherlock!", he bellows irritated. Her eyes widen: "You''re kidding? Sherlock? Where is the evidence?" He rolls up his sleeve to point out: "In here, if I''m lucky!¡± There is a moment of awkward silence, before Molly finds her speech again, hushing: "No!¡± "Yes!", John growls dark. "Sherlock? Why would he give you a...?" He gives her a long dark look. Finally, she exclaims bewildered: "NO!" "Yes!", he simply states. "He wouldn''t...", she insists, but he remains firm: "He did!" Hooper still wants to deny it: "Why would he ever... there must be some mistake, he couldn''t...", yet Watson interjects: "Yes he did, he did Molly, trust me!" "But how do you...", she keeps doubting, so John snaps, roaring at her: "I WOKE UP, NAKED, WITH NO MEMORY WHATSOEVER, TO FIND HIM LYING NEXT TO ME, ALSO NAKED, CLAIMING WE HAD BEEN INTIMATE, IS THAT ENOUGH EVIDENCE FOR YOU, MOLLY?!?" The young woman is silenced with shock. After a few awkward moments, she quietly moves to take his blood. "Do you, um, need other samples as well?", John asks more shy again, not facing her. "John.", she looks at him very sad but strict, until he meets her eyes, "If you really need to get evidence, then you have to go to the police. Right now! The longer you wait the more is lost." ?? At the Yard The inspectors are talking with their boss, as John enters the Yard. Donovan greets him: "Hi John, Freak not with you today?" Watson heads straight for Lestrade: "Can I talk to you about a problem?" Irritated, Greg huffs: "What the hell did he do now?" John mutters under his breath: "In the legal term, is it still consent, if I can''t remember anything?" The D.I. blinks confused: "Why would you ask such a question?" Donovan, Anderson, and others stare and start to gossip. Watson just looks Lestrade in the eye. Getting the hint, he gestures: "Oh, right. Come into my office." Once he closed the doors to his private corners, the inspector begins to speculate: "So. Okay, um, just to make sure, cuz that''s not really my division... This is about you, but you are not here to turn yourself in, sooo, you''re saying you are... the victim of a rape drug incident?" John nods. Closing his eyes, Lestrade sighs: "OK.¡±, to then make a serious, but compassionate expression, ¡°Look first thing, I think you are really brave to come to me! And I want you to know that it is not your fault! It can happen to the best of us, nearly happened to my sister once! Just looked away from her glass once. And if I hadn''t just been looking at it, cuz my date went the wrong way for me, noone would have known until it was too late. So don''t shame yourself! Okay?" The army vet only glares. The D.I. continues uneasy: "O-kay. We have a specialist department for such cases, they can trace possible evidence linking to the culprit, and measure the bruises and other... um... injuries. Sorry mate. Any good in asking you how you feel?" "Apart from my broken shoulder, and the strain that that caused the other arm, I feel fine.¡±, John huffs bitter, ¡°I''m in no pain. At least not where I would expect it. He has seen to that." Greg nods: "Oh. Kay, well... wait, he''s seen to it, do you know who it was?" The army vet answers: "Yes." The D.I. is instantly alert: "Well tell me and I''ll arrest the son-of-a-bitch! What''s his name?", but John only glares: "Make an educated guess." ?? The other D.I.s are talking outside, when they hear Lestrade''s uproar: "WHAT? ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!" Immediately people flock into the main office, and start pacing up and down in front of Lestrade''s door to eavesdrop. The doctor explains: "He drugged my tea last night, and the next thing I know is me waking up naked in bed with him." "I can''t believe it.", Greg breathes shocked. Watson returns: "Yes. Apparently I''m the love of his life, cuz he waited 29 years to have sex and it had to be with me." Lestrade looks at him with big eyes. Outside the Yard hears him shout: "YOU''RE KIDDING! HE WAS A VIRGIN?" This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Now people start standing at the door, ears against the wood. But Lestrade opens it, making some fall over, and bellows: "What the bloody hell are you all doing here? Get back to work!", then continues inside, "Okay, this is really... weird. Are you sure about this? I mean, you two have been like our dynamic duo and now suddenly coldhearted Sherlock is supposed to be a creeper? Sure you didn''t misunderstand something and nothing happened?" John gets angry: "Oh, so it is okay then, or what? You don''t believe me?" Greg argues: "It just doesn''t seem to be him, is all. Look I''m not saying don''t do this, I just want to be sure you won''t regret this. I mean after all you are his only..." Lestrade lets the sentence hang in the air. John''s really mad now: "This is just rich. I come to you for help, Greg, and this is the answer? Let it slide, because he is your friend, is that what you tell all victims or just the ones where you think the rapist is a fucking mastermind? Why do you all think he is so wonderful that everything he does just gets a free pass?!" The D.I. replies: "That''s not true, I take this very serious! And you''ve been the only one who ever thought he was wonderful, I just thought him to be a genius and a pain in the arse, and all the others call him a freak. You are the only one who ever showed him any love." ?? A silence erupts as both men realize what Lestrade just said. After some seconds John demands: "So what does that mean? I mean, does everyone think we''re a couple and this was supposed to happen? Why do people always think I''m gay and that I deserve to be treated like I don''t count..." "What? No! What are you saying? That''s not what I meant, it''s just, I...¡±, the inspector argues, ¡°You two are such good friends, everyone can see that, and it''s puzzling, because Sherlock is like the most difficult being on the planet. And I sometimes really hated his guts, but it also made me feel better when you entered the picture, because he became more social, calmer, not such a prick to everyone. And what about you being gay, where did that come from?" John yells: "I AM NOT GAY!" "Fine, alright, alright, but that''s not what I meant anyway, it''s just, I think you were the first person to really appreciate him and he started to care for you too. That kind of love, you know?", the inspector returns, ¡°I never thought, he''d even be interested in anything physical.¡± "Well he was.", John growls hurt. After a pause Lestrade concludes: "Okay. Look, I''ll call the lab and have someone from the specialists come and get you." He reaches for the phone, but the doctor had enough: "No. Forget it, I''m done." And he storms out of the office, leaving the D.I. speechless. ?? Bi(ckerin)g brother John feels hurt and deserted, tries to just run into the road, but a limousine halts next to him. He hisses: "Oh no, not today Mycroft!", and keeps walking, but the limo just creeps behind him. Eventually John gives up and enters the vehicle. He doesn''t even look at the texting Anthea, who is somewhat confused over this unusual ignorance. Even more when he stays silent the entire ride, giving her the cold shoulder. They arrive at a private residence of the upper class, something that confuses John. When he exits the limo, servants bow to greet him and usher him into an office. Mycroft is sitting at a desk with an open laptop. John growls: "It will take more than threats or money to fix this, Mycroft!". But Mycroft answers with a raging outburst: "That you have the nerve... I should be the one to be angry at you! Since your onslaught this morning, Sherlock has gone missing and might do something really stupid!" When John is winding himself up, huffing: "Oh is that so? Well he already...", Mycroft shuts him up by crying out: "I saw you! My brother didn''t rape you, you made love to him, just like he said!" Then he walks over to the laptop and ushers John to join him. He shows him footage of a surveillance camera, that seems installed in John''s room. John is shocked and demands: ¡°What the hell, are you spying on me?¡±, but Mycroft simply states: ¡°I just try to look out for my brother!¡± The recording shows how the young Holmes is helping Watson undress, and how the doctor is making Sherlock the compliments. Then there is the kiss. John has to look away. He asks: "So you were watching us?¡± "When you started to tug at my brother''s pants, I tuned out. I don''t have to witness his first serious steps into a sexual relationship.¡±, Mycroft makes clear, ¡°I did however tune in to the next morning, to make sure everything went well!" John snorts disbelieving. The government official continues unimpressed: "Only to discover that you fire around wild accusations, along with furniture, spooking my little brother away to God knows where! I cannot call or trace him! If he takes hits and gets hurt or worse, I will hold you responsible!" Watson looks again at the footage of the two half naked men, gently caressing each other. Suddenly the older Holmes pulls a USB-stick from the laptop and the signal is lost. He gives it to the doctor saying: "You can keep it, or burn it. I trust it is in your own interest, not to have this posted somewhere. And you better help me retrieve my brother!" Overwhelmed, John just silently accepts. As he moves to leave, Mycroft inquires: "Is the police investigating?" When John shakes his head, he nods at him and turns around to a window. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ?? John is brought home with the limo. He goes straight to his room and finds that the hidden camera has already been removed from it''s hiding spot. So he sits on his bed and watches the footage. In between he has to stop and shut his laptop to calm himself down. He never watches gay porn, but seeing himself and his best friend go down on each other, apart from being cringe, is also strangely arousing. It is notable, that despite his disability, John was the more active part, and also the top, throughout the entire session. And that he took his sweet time. It makes John blush. Once they''re asleep, he fast forwards to the next morning, watching now with guilt, how he chased Sherlock away, embarrassed at his outburst, and noticing how hurt his friend looked. He texts Molly and Lestrade, telling the later: ''You were right, misunderstanding, sorry. Please don''t tell.'' Lestrade texts back: ''Didn''t tell anyone. Okay, but please explain some day. Take care.'' ?? John goes out, wanders the streets looking for Sherlock, but doesn''t find any sign of him. He starts to organize the homeless network, spending a lot of money, and instructing them to tell Sherlock he is sorry. And to please keep him from taking drugs, if possible. On his way, he meets a sprayer and employs him too, then gets an idea. He borrows one of the cans and starts spraying: ''S come home, I''m sorry, John!'', in a gruesome handwriting, since he still only has his right arm to use. He continues to do this on all corners where he and Sherlock ever ate, drove to, or had a case. At the end of the day, running from the police twice, and with an empty can, John slumps home. His arms hurt so much, it feels like one will fall off any minute, and he wouldn''t be sorry if it did. John goes to bed, partly dressed and in a lot of pain. But he endures it, since his usual stopped working anyways, and looking for Sherlock''s Polcitine to kill the pain would only make him feel even more guilty, remembering how well he felt under it''s influence. ''He really only meant well.'', John scolds himself, worried over Sherlock. In the middle of the night, he wakes up from a sound, but can''t find anything. Out of an impulse he writes ''Sherlock, I''m sorry, John'' with chalk on the table. He goes to bed even more hurt and cries. ?? Morning confessions John cannot tend to himself. His arms hurt so much, that he keeps his old clothes on, when slowly coming down to breakfast. Still no sign of Sherlock. No texts either. John just sits down at the table. How would he prepare breakfast? He could ask Mrs. Hudson for help. But no, he wasn''t hungry anyway. Instead he stares at the words he had written in the night, the chalk barely readable. He starts to cry again. If he could, he would put his arms on the table to bury his head in them. Instead, he simply leans forward to rest his forehead on the tabletop, the tears creating little puddles under his eyes. Suddenly, there is a noise, and John''s head jerks up, scanning the kitchen. But nothing stirs. "Sherlock?", he cries hopefully. "Sherlock, if you''re there, please come out, I''m sorry!" Then, there is another noise, and he hastily gets up, kicking against the chair, staggering, his vision blurred from crying, to stumble and fall... into Sherlock''s arms. When he realizes it, he immediately tries to hold on to him with his ''good'' arm, gritting his teeth in pain, pleading: "Please don''t leave, I''m sorry, it''s all my fault!" "Let go John, you''re hurting yourself.", the detective calmly delivers, helping the doctor stand back up. "Please stay, I wanna apologize!", he insists, "I know what happened, Mycroft showed me, I..." "Mycroft?", the younger Holmes retorts puzzled. "Yes he... was watching... us. Ahem.", John replies shy. "Hmm. Damn. I always forget to check your room, when I look for his hidden cameras.", Sherlock ponders, more to himself. John is surprised: "You know about the cameras? Did he bug the whole flat? Oh my God. Not the bathroom too?" "Yeah, he installs them on a regular basis and I keep wrecking them.", the detective explains, but then gives him a questioning look, asking: "You saw the footage?" John blushes, but keeps holding on to Sherlock, who starts moving towards the couch, to sit. Watson confesses: "Yes. He gave me the recording. To prove that..." He looks at him with guilt in his eyes and whispers: "I''m so sorry Sherlock! I''m sorry, I ever thought you would... do that to me. I was just so scared!" And the tears flow again. Sherlock finally displays some emotion himself, as he carefully hugs John, and with concern asks: "But why? Do I treat you so badly, that that''s the first thing you can imagine, when waking up next to me?" "Well, no, yes, no, I, I mean...", John tries, but has to stop to take some deep breaths. Then he continues: "I just don''t want to be like that. That''s why I panicked and started to attack you, because it would mean, it''s not my fault... but it was." Sherlock looks at his friend, utterly confused. It seems as though he has a hard time deducing what John is trying to say. So, after a while, he comes clean: "I''m... I don''t want people to call me gay. I don''t want them to treat me like that. I don''t want them to look at me, like I''m... something ugly. I don''t hate gays, it''s okay, like I told you on our first d.. evening. I don''t want to treat them different from the others, but I''m scared of how others will treat me, if they think I''m... like that. And now I am. Shit!" The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Sherlock looks at him with a slight smile, confusing him, and inquires: "John, you slept with women, and you liked it, didn''t you?" The doctor nods, a bit ashamed of this kind of questioning. "And you also fell in love with girls?", the detective adds, making his roommate wonder: ¡°Yes. Why do you ask?" Sherlock replies: "Because then people can''t call you gay and you shouldn''t think of yourself as gay. If anything, you could be bi, or even pan or maybe hetero-flexible, but if you were gay, men would be your only interest and that''s not the case. So if that is what scares you, you can give it a rest." John slowly shakes his head, giving Sherlock a long, baffled look. His friend on the other hand reassures him: "John, just because you had sex with a man once, doesn''t mean you can now only have sex with men and never again with a woman. If this was just a slip-up that won''t happen anymore, then you might as well still consider yourself straight. So why are you so scared?" John stares at his friend in surprise, asking: "But... what do you mean, if it was a slip-up? Does that mean you don''t care? I mean, I thought you wanted more. More than just that, I mean." Sherlock backs away from him, getting distant and calm again, and without facing him states: "It is something I filed away in my mind palace. So if I wish to relive the night, I can always go back there. But I do thank you for the experience." John has to swallow hard. Then he leans towards his friend and stares at him, until Sherlock finally turns, to make clear: "Sherlock, I can''t say that I''m completely calmed now, but seeing what we did... How you touched me, so gentle, so eager, so intense! And the way you looked... I know, you remember, because you said, you always do, so... Why shouldn''t we do that again some time?" Sherlock stares back, but it seems there are tears lingering in his eyes. And then he quietly muses: "It''s okay John. I know Mycroft told you, I might hurt myself, but I didn''t, cuz you still need my help. You don''t have to..." He closes his eyes for a moment, to emphasize: "You were drunk and lightheaded from the pills, you weren''t yourself. I shouldn''t have..." But he can''t continue because John suddenly kisses him. "I''m not drunk now, am I?", he asks. ?? They kiss, getting up of the couch. They kiss, walking up the stairs to John''s room. They kiss on the bed, while Sherlock helps John out of his clothes. And they kiss, kiss, and kiss, while Sherlock re-enacts the last night with John, even happier, even more eager, to show him the emotions he had to silence all his life, as John just lets his worries go, giving into the feelings he had to hide so long, to sink into his arms. Later that day, Mycroft receives a text: ''Happy announcement heading your way. Hope you enjoyed our new video! SH'' ??????